


Hop, Hop, Little Bunny

by CoffeeTeaAndMe (kurofu)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus Harry, Are you kidding? That's not a tag??, Asshole Tom, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Kidnapping, M/M, Masochism, My shoddy attempts at BDSM, Pornography, Sadism, Sexual Content, Stockholm Syndrome, bunny!Harry, references to past underage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 13:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16744630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurofu/pseuds/CoffeeTeaAndMe
Summary: Professor Riddle has taught DADA for years, long enough that when he had taken the position, the class was simply called ‘Defense’. However, in recent years, a small black bunny has begun to accompany him to class. A bunny coincidentally named Harry - the same as the child that had gone missing at school years ago.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Earth_Phoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Earth_Phoenix/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Earthma!!!!!!!!! (That doesn't seem to be enough ! marks...) [its like...0040 some for you, that's considered your birthday right? :blobsweats:]
> 
> Beta by copperkeys
> 
> Disclaimer: This is my first actual smut piece. Do be nice, please. And I have no idea how BDSM works--I'm learning everything from the internet. Please don't take it seriously.

“Spread your legs.”

He shifted on the sheets, the silk whispering on his skin.

“More.”

The mattress squeaked when he reluctantly spread them even more, exposing something too personal for him. He twisted his head to the side, unwilling to look at his own actions.

“There we go. _Good boy_.”

_Shutter-snap._

A bright light flashed, illuminating his surroundings before dimming back to darkness. Tears began to well, and he closed his eyes, smushing his face into the silk sheets.

He jumped when a hand ghosted over the back of his thighs, pushing his leg above his head. Immediately, his trembling hands held up both legs, folding himself in half. A satisfied hum sounded from above.

_Shutter-snap._

“Use your hands to spread your arse.”

His breath hitched, and tears escaped. He shook his head, unwilling.

“Use your hands, Bunny. You don’t want me to force you to do it, do you?”

His fingers flinched, curling upon themselves before they hesitantly slid down to his arse. He grabbed it and pulled, spreading, revealing. He went even further and dipped his fingers into his hole. Unrequested, but desired, if the intrigued noise was anything to go by.

“That’s a good position, Bunny. Dig your fingers in some more, show them your hole. How loose and empty you are for me.”

_Shutter-snap._

“You’re doing good, Bunny, very good. And good boys get rewards.” 

Something blunt and too familiar pressed against his spread hole. A hot heat thrumming against his fingers. His breath quickened for what was to come. No matter how many times he’d been put under it, he could never get used to it. 

_Shutter-snap._

A large hand rested on his heaving flank, sliding down to his hips, before a powerful thrust buried the cock inside of him, making him arch and throw his head back with a scream. 

_Shutter-snap._

“Ugh, you’re so _tight_ , Bunny. So _tight_.” 

A metallic taste filled his mouth when he bit his lips, trying to muffle his sobs from the punishing, harsh rhythm that rocked his body. Pained tears spilled from his eyes, his fingers being scraped raw with the friction. 

_Shutter-snap._

The hand glided from his hips, moving to trace the stretched muscle, tickling it, before it dove under. His eyes flew open and his body arched once more, clamping hard around the cock drilling into him. 

_Shutter-snap._

“Damn tight, Bunny...so–-ugh–-damn tight.” 

He writhed around on the cock that speared him open, desperate to get away. 

“Haha! Did you know, Bunny, everyone wants to know if your tail’s real or not. But _I_ know the truth.” 

The hand holding his tail squeezed, sending lances of pain down his back, making his hole clench down in reflex. He sobbed when the hand harshly kneaded the ball of fluff, experimenting with how hard he tightened his muscles. 

“Hmm, so if I do this, then you’re neither too tight or too loose. I _like_ it. Perhaps I should do this more often.” 

_Shutter-snap._

desperately shook his head, he didn’t want this. It hurt! It hurt more than being ruthlessly fucked by this cock or being marked by the leather whip. It hurt than being tied by rope and having hot wax dripped on him. Or when something thin but large was put into his cock-hole and ruthlessly pulled out. 

“Since you object to it so much...then, that means I...should do it more.” 

Broken whimpers escaped his lips as he cried, the cock speeding up and hitting much deeper than before. The sounds of animalistic grunts and slapping of skin filled the air, creating a horrible symphony to his ears. 

“Yes, yes, _yes_. 

“Bunny, you’re so perfect for me. So perfect, you’re my perfect little toy, my pet. I know you love this. Not even your denials can save you, Bunny. Deep inside, I know–-I can _feel_ \--that you’re a slut for this.” 

The hand released his tail, to his relief. But it was short-lived, his hips were grasped and roughly pulled down to meet the onslaught of thrusts, pulling him into a half-somersault, as if he was a rag-doll–-and wasn’t that accurate? 

With one final thrust, his hips were pulled flush, and the thick cock head ground onto that _one spot_ , making spots swim in his vision. His body fell limp when the hot heat shot through him. He closed his eyes in shame and twisted his head to the side, unwilling to acknowledge this mess. His body was still rocked, slowly being pumped on the softening cock. 

At last, the cock was pulled out of him, leaving him empty. 

_Shutter-snap._

He could hear fabric being moved back into place as if none of this had happened. He could feel the sensation of air brushing him as the camera moved even closer. 

_Shutter-snap._

To take pictures. 

_Shutter-snap._

Of him, his open, gaping hole, and the seed that spilled out of him. 

_Shutter-snap._

“Good job, Bunny, we’ll earn some good money for this.” An appreciative hum as fingers tapped the back of his thighs, “They’ll pay quite a lot for this.” 

He dropped his legs and retrieved his tired arms. He turned onto his side and slowly curled into a ball, his knees to chest, and bit his lips bloody to muffle any sounds. His long ears slumped dejectedly, the perfect image of a sad rabbit. He could hear the sounds of dress shoes walking farther away, the opening of a door and running water, and cheery humming. The shamed tears fell, seeping through closed lashes and running down his cheeks. 

He was so preoccupied by his snifflings that he flinched when the hand came back again, settling on his buttocks. He heard a scoff. 

“You’re crying? Why? You’ve done this so many times already.” The hand smoothed over his firm backside, sliding down to the crack. Two fingers were ruthlessly pumped into him, dragging stilted, reluctant moans from his lips, too much and too fast. He was oversensitive, a live wire of pleasure. Yet he was very conscious of the palm’s heel pressing against his tail, a threatening presence. 

There was a loud sneer, “See? Look at you–-your hole is sucking me in! Don’t you hear that sucking sound? That’s _you_ , Bunny.” The fingers were suddenly removed, leaving his hole clenching on air. He had no time to react, except to squeal, when a blow was slapped onto his buttocks. “Cry when your body isn’t such a whore, maybe then I’ll believe you. 

He curled up even more, the harsh words cutting deep into him, and buried his head into his knees. His body shook with the sobs he tried to suppress. 

A sigh. “Bunny, you’re just making this harder on yourself. Just be a good boy and you won’t feel pain. I’ll only give you pleasure. I’m not a cruel master, Bunny, you just make me act like one.” 

The palm on him soothed his pinking flesh, rubbing circles, before deviating, heading upwards. It slowly glided up his flank, behind his shoulder, and to his neck, where it squeezed. He gasped out a breath, his head ducked down, trapping the grip between his shoulders and neck. A defense mechanism against a threat to someplace vulnerable, the soft place that predators always go for to kill their prey. But then the hand loosened, choosing instead to knead the back of his neck after rubbing the leather around his throat. 

“Why can’t you just be a good boy?” 

It was a rhetorical question. They both knew why, though one was more warped and perverse than the other. The hand released his nape, only to rest on his unruly curls, fingering the area where ear met skull. It glided up the velvety fur of his ears, placing fingers on thin skin to feel his trembling staccato pulse. 

A pair of moist lips touched his brow, right underneath a lightning bolt scar that was deliberately made. The gesture was soft and gentle, a contrast to how he was treated before. 

“I’m going to go out now, Bunny,” was murmured onto his skin. “You’re going to earn us a lot of money tonight, so don’t be sad. I’ll come home soon.” 

With a last kiss, he was left as the bed’s only occupant, the sound of a door opening and closing with a conclusive thud. He laid there, unmoving, still curled, and in the silence of the room, he finally allowed himself to crack. 

He cried and whined. The shame of tonight mounted, as it did like other nights, and was capped off with the throbbing hardness between his thighs. He reached his hands down, attempting to do what he would normally do to another cock, but he only sobbed even more. After all, he never learned how to pleasure himself, was never taught nor given the opportunity, so he was unable to relieve himself of this shame. 

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾ 

He was vaguely aware of the bed dipping, half-asleep as he was, of lips pressed to his brow and a hand smoothing his curls. He heard a distant chuckle as he tried to get away from the sensations, but the hold was adamant. 

“You did really well, Bunny. You earned us more than I anticipated.” A heavy bag of coins was shaken beside his ears, the multiple clink, clinking sounds nearly rousing him from sleep. “I can buy new toys for you, so many more. You’ll never be bereft of a toy, nor leave any fantasy unfulfilled.” 

He mumbled something incoherent and received a light pat to his cheek before he drifted off. 

Once more he was stirred from sleep, this time to a warm muscled body sliding behind him, spooning him. The settling of limbs on him was heavy but comforting. A press of lips to his brow before all was silent and still. 

His consciousness began to slip again, back to dreams of unattainable futures and the too-far past, when the night air was broken by a soft whisper. 

“I’m not a cruel master, Bunny.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, uh, know I should be working on A Snake's Foot (I'm so sorry to those of you who subscribed to it)--and I promise I'll get to it! But life decided to punch itself into my face. This fic, I too will have to put down after a decent stopping point (chapter 3 or 4 with an actual setting and place for plot) until life has decided I've had enough of being its punching bag.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry awoke to warm sunlight filtering into the room, the light too bright to sleep through. He hesitantly looked up, ears flat against his head–-but he had nothing to fear, as he was the only one in the bed. He slowly perked one ear up and then the other, his muscles loosening when he sensed that he was all alone, not just in the bedroom, but in the entire living space.

He pushed out his front paws and stretched. Oh, how nice it felt! The burn in his muscles, the straining of his tendons after sleeping in such a cramped position for so long. He opened his mouth for a great yawn, but it was silent, as rabbit yawns tend to be. Sitting up, he basked in the warm light, enjoying the sensation–-until his stomach growled. 

The mood broken, Harry sighed, before making his way past mountains of duvets and blankets to the edge of the large bed. He stopped about a foot before the bed edge, fear coiling in his stomach. He hesitantly, slowly, hopped forwards. 

And immediately jumped back. 

Nope, nope, nope. He’s not going to go down, it's too high. He’d rather starve than get down from this bed. He sat down with a finality, his nose turned up and away from the bed edge. Mere moments later, his stomach growled, louder than before, and made him falter. But stubbornness made him stay still.

Nope. He’s not going to go, nope. His ear twitched when his stomach complained again, shaking his whole body. He’s a Gryffindor, they never back down. His mind began to wander.

 _What if he doesn’t go down the whole day, what would he do then?_ There’s nothing to do here--it's just a bed. _With blankets! He could burrow in those blankets and sleep again!_ Then? What happens after sleeping? What about food? Lunch? _He doesn’t have to eat, he has stubbornness, that’s what Gryffindors eat._ Fine. No food. But what about the restroom? Was he willing to wet the bed and be punished?

Harry shivered at the thought. No, he didn’t want to be punished. As he thought this, he had the sudden urge to go–-and dammit! He didn’t want to go down, but he had to. He inched forward, and stuck his head over the edge, staring at the floor below. His vision began to swim at the height. He gulped. 

And jumped.

He shut his eyes when he felt himself falling, memories rising to his mind. He shook his head, clearing it. No, he wouldn’t think of those.  
Then his paws touched the carpet below, and he stumbled. Tumbling until his back hit the wardrobe’s leg, his feet in the air and everything upside down. 

_There, that wasn’t so hard was it?_ It was really damn hard, so shut it.

He picked himself up from the floor and looked at the place where he jumped from. The bed was a good deal higher than him, it even reached Master’s hips, and Harry knew that Master was _tall_. The urge came back again, reminding him of why he came down from that monstrous height in the first place, and he ran to the bathroom.

There once was a time that he loved heights. Loved the wind whipping around him, being in the blue, blue skies, the ground far, far below, and touching wispy clouds––

But that was before.

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾

With great difficulty, he managed to get onto the dining table where his breakfast sat waiting for him. All this jumping and climbing, Harry was famished. Screw not eating, that was a stupid decision.

Merlin, bless this meal in front of him. Waffles with raspberries and syrup, dusted with powdery white sugar. A treat he hadn’t had in a long while. 

When he looked up again, the dish was clear and the fur on his face was matted and sticky. Delicious. And worth the mess. He licked his chaps, cleaning his fur. Then he noticed the note beside the dish, and his nose twitched. He didn’t want to read it, but he couldn’t not read it. Master might have had some very important words to say today.

“Good morning, Bunny,” it read, in the fine slanted, looping calligraphy of his Master’s script. “You’ve earned quite a lot of galleons last night, so I had the house elves bake you a treat for breakfast. I’ll be coming home soon. I have a few places to run to, many places to see and things to buy. I must spoil you for earning so much. Do take care.”

Harry looked away from the note and chose to lick the syrup off the plate instead, his mind jumbled. It was unsigned, as it always was. The note had no need for a name because Harry would know who it was regardless. It’s not like he had many people to talk to besides Master. 

He looked down at the cleared plate. His warped reflection looked back at him: a face full of fluffy black fur, two droopy long black ears framing it, and a pair of green eyes that Master so loved. He looked like the cute girl next door’s pet rabbit, the kind that could be held in a palm and snuggled with. The kind that kids adored and cooed at. Completely different than how he was before, a human boy that sometimes turned into a bunny, but now it was more bunny than boy. 

Was he...still considered a boy?

He knew that time has passed since he was let out of the cage. He didn’t know how long exactly, but it's a lot. He wasn’t allowed to know the date, only the season, and when Master was generous, the month. And whenever he tried to look at the calendar on Master’s desk the numbers blurred, hiding themselves from his sight. 

It frustrated him. Harry wished he knew how old he was–-he remembered the age when he last looked at a proper calendar: fifteen–-but he couldn’t do anything about it. All he knew is that five school years have passed since Master carried him out of the cage, not including however long he spent inside it. 

A loud pop startled him awake, and he hastily ran off of the table, landing on the dinner chair before pushing off of that too, causing the legs to let out a loud screech against the stone flooring. He nearly tripped in his haste, his paws tumbling as he turned a corner and dived beneath the body of a bookcase, his body barely fitting between the space. He’d stay there until all was clear and safe.

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾

Harry jumped, and missed, his blunt claws scratching the chair’s velvet cushion before gravity pulled him downwards and back onto the floor with a thump. He laid there on his back for the _n_ th time, panting from exhaustion. Curse Master for clipping his claws! How was he supposed to get onto the chair and read? 

His master always had the foresight of placing out books for him to read when he was away. But Master was cruel too. He loved to watch him struggle, that’s why he placed the books on the side table beside the chair. Or maybe he forgot that he wasn’t a boy anymore? No, Master definitely knew–-it was deliberate. 

He rolled himself to his stomach and pushed himself to sitting. To think he’d do so much _just_ to read. The 15 year old him would be aghast. _Books? But they’re so boring,_ he would have once said. Too bad. There was nothing else for him to do here. He couldn’t go out, he couldn’t play games, and he couldn’t practice magic. 

Now, how to get up there…

The bottom shelves were just low enough for him to hop on and nudge the encyclopedias off it. The heavy volumes landed on the floor with thuds that could, if the whole living quarters were not pristinely clean, rise up a dust storm. He used his body to push the books, inch by agonizing inch, across the carpet and nearly tripping on a carpet bubble if he hadn’t face-planted on the book spines instead. Oh, how he hated being this small! 

By the time Harry finished maneuvering, the sunlight from the window had moved a couple of inches away. At least he had created a staircase out of the encyclopedias. He praised himself for his ingenuity and preened, his fur all fluffed up. He hopped on top of the book covers one by one until he reached the chair cushions, where he sat there for a while, enjoying the softness beneath his sore paws. 

All that pushing had tired him out, and Harry was so, so tempted to just take a nap and rest...for a bit. _You did all that work, just to_ sleep? _You can’t be serious!_ ...Right, he was here to read books. Not to sleep. He used his front paws to push himself onto the chair’s arm, swung his foot over it, and rolled onto his back on the wooden side table. So much trouble just to _read_ , the books better be good.

He nudged the stacks of books with his nose, allowing them to tumble and fan out. _Living Secrets of the Draconis; Magic of the Questionable Ones; Creations, Evolutions, Destructions_. Harry stared at the titles incredulously. What kind of books were these? They sounded so questionable! Were they even authentic?

Whatever. He wasn’t going to waste all the work he did just because the books sounded weird. Who knows, maybe they were actual treasures on the inside––’don’t judge a book by its cover’, as the saying went.

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾

Harry was so absorbed in the reading that he didn’t notice something creeping up behind him until he was picked up. Startled, he flailed around in the hold, his hind legs kicking at air. 

“Why hello to you too, Bunny,” Master chuckled, and placed a kiss to his forehead, making Harry squint, “I’m home.” 

Master fixed his hold, placing Harry over the shoulder like one would burp a baby, and Harry scrunched his nose at the thought. He pawed at Master’s shoulder, wanting to get down. But the hand on him swiftly moved to his nape, forcing him to stop. He got a hum of approval and a couple of pats to the back for that. 

“You’re reading _Creations, Evolutions, Destructions_? It’s a very nice book, don’t you agree? Quite a lot of history in there.” Master turned around, walking away from the plush reading chair. “I've got something for you.”

He was gently placed onto the dining table, and he sat ramrod straight atop the wood, head swiveling to always have Master in his sights. 

“Look at this, Bunny, isn’t this nice?”

In his master’s hands was a red ribbon with a small round bell. 

“I bought this today, and thought it would look quite nice on you.” As he said so, his hands reached out to fasten the ribbon to his neck. Above a collar that was already there. “There, give me a twirl? If you look good in silk, I may just buy more.”

Slowly, he hopped in a circle, as much as a ‘twirl’ that a rabbit could do. His movements were stiff and slightly stilted, but Master didn’t care. He only laughed, a childish gleam in his dark eyes, as if Harry was the most entertaining thing to him. Maybe he was, who knew what went on in Master’s mind.

“Come, Bunny, I have some work to do,” and he was picked up once again. This time he was carted to the desk on the other side of the living room. He hopped to the side of the desk, knowing that Master would need the center to work, and looked up, foot tapping against the wood in a demanding rhythm. Master sat down on the plush chair accompanying the desk and ruffled the fur on his head. 

“Interesting book, is it not? I knew you would like it.” With a careless wave of his hand, the book that Harry was reading flew to his hand. He raised it right above Harry, where his erect ears could barely even touch the book cover. “Hop for it?”

Harry gave a glare–-well, as much as he dared to give so that he could avoid punishment–-to the offending hand. Can’t he just _read_ a book? 

“Don’t you want to read it? If not, I’ll put it back on the shelf.” 

Harry’s jaw almost fell open. Master can’t do that! That’s so unfair! But he should have expected something like this; after all, Master loved to ‘tease’ him. Fine. He’d ‘hop for it’, only because there was nothing else to do and he would definitely die of boredom without. 

“Good boy,” Master praised, before placing the book down and began to ignore him.

He watched as magic worked its way around the room to fulfill his Master’s needs; providing paper, quills, and ink that neatly laid themselves into position for access. He was envious–-who wouldn’t be?--at the casual display of power, something that he would never be able to accomplish.

He forced his body away from the scene, pretending that he wasn’t bothered. However that’s not true, he was very affected, but he’s gotten really good at lying to himself. For a while now too.

Merlin! Master lost his spot! Now, he’s got to find it again and it was at such a good part, too!

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾

A hand came over to occasionally brush him while he read, petting down his fur in a soothing manner. Sometimes a finger would rub at his new collar, causing it to shift in place, tickling him. He would hold his breath then, to avoid making a sound, because Master didn’t like sound when he was busy.

He only looked up when the quill was finally put down. Master leaned back in his chair to stretch the knots out of his back. He always said that he’s not as young as he used to be, but Harry can’t tell the difference. He looks the same as he did when he first met him at 11–-a face he would see in his mother’s gossip magazines with black hair neatly swept to one side and dark, dark eyes. 

His master would sometimes spend the better part of the hour looking at the mirror, preening at the image before him. And he’d have Harry right beside him, just sitting there, admiring a face that held something darker inside.

Master raised his hand towards him, beckoning, and he went towards it. His small form curled into the crook of Master’s arm.

A pop sounded to the right before a silver platter appeared in front of them. A heavenly smell permeated through the air when the cover was lifted. On the silver was a dish of meat medallions covered with a dark red looking sauce, green beans, and mashed potatoes as sides. Beside the lavish meal was a simple plate of carrots, celery leaves, and blueberries. 

With a knife and fork, Master began to cut into his meal, slicing the meat into smaller pieces. As he raised a piece to his mouth, he finally noticed Harry, who looked at Master’s dish with barely concealed hunger and envy. 

Master placed the meat on his tongue, slowly dragging away the fork, and chewed. He smirked as Harry’s eyes followed the meat down its path, traced the bob of the Adam’s apple when it swallowed.

“You want some?” 

Did Harry want some? Does Master even have to ask? Of course, he wanted some! He hadn’t had meat in _months_. He frantically nodded his head, afraid that if he didn’t answer fast enough, Master would deny him this luxury. 

Master hummed, his empty hand coming up to his chin in a thoughtful manner. He stared at Harry, making him twitch in anticipation. Would he get it? Would he get to eat meat? Didn’t he deserve it because of how good he was yesterday? 

A hand picked up a cube of meat, lightly squeezing it, red leaking down pale fingers. “Well, I suppose it would do no harm. After all, I am a master that loves to spoil their obedient pet.” With that, he pushed the cube into Harry’s open mouth.

Harry moaned at the taste. A flavor burst of iron and sweet nectar assaulted his tongue. There was also another factor that he couldn’t name that made this meat taste different than the chicken, pork, or beef he had had before. But despite it, he couldn’t help but savor it, his tongue flicking out to lick at the red-stained fingers, laving it clean.

A chuckle above him, and another cube was quickly gobbled up. “You like this, don't you, Bunny?” Master commented, lazily hand-feeding Harry the cut meat. “The dish is venison–– _deer_ \--a delicacy accompanied with a sauce made of red wine and plum.”

Something niggled in the back of his brain when Harry heard the word ‘deer’, something that made his chest pain a little, but he was too preoccupied to care.

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾

Stomach full, Harry began to drift off. His head nuzzled into his master’s one-handed embrace, something he would never willingly do, but he was content, therefore complacent. He didn’t want to wake when Master whispered into his ears, some soothing nonsense that was an attempt to rouse. A hand running up and down his back.

Until a finger was pressing lightly underneath his tail, circling his hole. 

He immediately woke, his body stiff as stone at the unwelcoming sensation. Harry hoped that his fear would be hidden, beneath his fur, but the little bell on his new collar tinkled with each minute tremor through him.

“Oh, come now, Bunny. You know I can’t fuck you while you’re in this form.” 

And that snapped Harry out of his paralysis. He hastily scrambled away from the deceivingly warm embrace. Adrenalin pumped through him, his flight response going haywire, and he jumped off the desk, his fear of heights missing due to distress. 

He was halfway across the room when Harry stumbled to the floor, landing on his chest, breath knocked out and arse in the air. Master had struck him mid-hop, nonverbal as always, changing him from rabbit to boy. His long ears flattened to his head when he heard footsteps, and he whipped his head around. 

He was met with the sight of Master pushing aside his robes, exposing the erect cock and kneeling behind him. A brief spell and Harry’s insides were wet. He whimpered at his master’s growing smirk, their voice low and lustful.

“But I can when you’re like _this_ \--” and he was filled in one punishing stroke.

Harry was taken ruthlessly on the floor, the stone grinding his kneecaps with each thrust. He could already feel the bruises forming on his hips, large purple hand marks on each side. He whined out in pain and attempted to get away, but one of Master’s hands shoved his face to the floor, making him choke on his tears. The bell’s tinkling loud in his ears as he was pushed up and down the floor.

Soon, scorching heat burned his insides, his master letting out a low groan as he bowed over his bent back. Master pulled out, sighing as he did so. “You couldn’t have been a good boy? This wouldn’t have happened if you had obeyed.” Indicating his poor knees, “I would have taken you to bed.”

Master picked him up, arms under his knees and supporting his back, like those knights carrying distressed princesses. Harry ducked his head beneath his master’s, wondering at the strength of the arms carrying him since he was no longer a rabbit.

“Though I’ll still take you on the bed, Bunny because I am merciful. Nevertheless, you disobeyed, therefore I still have to punish you.” A sigh, and Harry’s head followed the motion. Up, down. “I had wanted to break in some of the new toys that I bought today, but apparently you can’t be trusted to be a good boy,” Master lamented, his fingers rubbing at Harry’s naked skin. 

“It appears, Bunny, we’ll be going back to the old toys–-a paddle or a whip? Which do you think would help you the most?” 

Master crossed the threshold into the bedroom, the door closing with a thud.

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾

Harry’s body smarted, pain lancing through with each ragged breath. His skin colored bright red in some and flushed pink in others. The leather whip responsible for his marks laid right beside him on the bed. Its split tails tickled him, the feeling much stronger than it should have been because of his overstimulation.

He laid there, wishing for the day to end, for night to fall and his master asleep. He laid there, on his side, his arse and hamstrings aflame and cock hard. His thighs shifted, attempting to stimulate himself to completion, but he was denied by the red silk wrapped snugly around, like an unyielding embrace. The damned bell tinkling with his motions.

Master, who sat beside him, noticed but did nothing, preferring to stroke his ears. This was even worse than Master using his hand or that glass rod to prevent him from coming. Harry was sure there was something on the ribbon that kept him stimulated. The longer he wore it on his cock, the more it chafed and gripped at him, the effect intensifying by the minute. All he could do was leak and leak pre-cum, never able to properly come. 

It got to the point that Harry had no choice but to beg. To beg for his master to release him from this torture, to allow him to finally fall over the edge that he’s been dangling over for so long. 

“M-master, p-please,” he sobbed out, his voice hoarse and cracking. “L--let me, please.”

“Use your words, Bunny, what do you want?” Master’s tone was unconcerned, but his lips were smirking–-knowing, taunting, pleased.

“P..p-please, Master...let me–-let me come!”

With a twirl of his finger, the ribbon was unwrapped, and a hand fisted Harry’s cock. Not a moment later, he came, spurting into the hand.

Master pulled Harry onto his chest, the other hand coming up to pet his sweaty curls, his lips whispering sweet nothings and praises into his ears. He brought the come-filled hand to Harry’s lips, an unspoken demand. 

Harry hesitantly licked at it, still breathing heavy and under the afterglow.

When the hand was cleaned and the taste of his own come in his mouth, Harry leaned his head back, exhausted. Master was still stroking his hair, idly playing with his ears. With a wave, the duvets at the edge of the bed unfolded, draping and covering their bodies, one naked the other clothed. 

“Get a good night’s rest, Bunny. Tomorrow is the first day of school,” and the candles were blown out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everyone is safe and sound. No deer animagi has been harmed in the writing of this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

The smell of bacon rose in the air, traveling to every corner of the house, slipping beneath doors and filling rooms. Harry laid in bed, his body cocooned in blankets for maximum comfort. He was awake–-who wouldn’t be when such a divine smell wafts into a room?—but he shut his eyes, relaxing and waiting. He smiled, if he concentrated hard enough he thought he could hear the pop-sizzle of cooking bacon.

“Harry! Breakfast!”

Harry threw his blankets off, breaking his record speed for getting out of bed. “Coming!” He cried, his feet flying down the stairs, barely touching the wood. At the bottom, he grinned and jumped off, the soles of his feet slapping on the polished wooden flooring when he landed. He ran through the open door to the kitchen and stopped. Harry leaned on the doorframe, panting but smiling, a mischievous tilt to his lips, and straightened.

Harry closed his eyes and _breathed_. The smell of family, love, and happiness filled him, surrounding and caressing him with warmth. 

When he opened his eyes, Mum was laying out the table, setting down silverware on the three place settings. One for Dad, one for her, and one for him. In the middle of the wooden table was a plate stacked high with pancakes. Berries and slices of fruit cut into shapes, homemade syrup from the backyard maple trees filled a bowl beside it, a tray of freshly baked white bread still steaming from the oven, and a platter of various meats. The combined smells made Harry’s mouth water, stomach growl, itching to have Mum’s home-cooked meal.

Mum always said that magic made food taste less good. it just didn’t taste _quite_ right when magic was used, not as delicious. Harry had to agree. He’s never tasted anything as good as Mum’s cooking.

He ran forward, tackling his mother from behind and making her stumble a bit.

“Harry!”

But Harry didn’t care, he shook his head into her back and squeezed even tighter, forcing Mum to place the glass down before she dropped it. 

“Harry, you’re too old to act like this!” She scolded, but her voice was soft and light. She turned around in his hold and sighed, her hand coming to rest upon his head. It was soothing. Her hand petting at his curls, a gentle rhythm. They stayed like that, quiet–-a son reminiscing and a mother contemplating.

Warm air disturbed his curls as Mum sighed, “Did you get into trouble again?” Harry shook his head. “Do something that would get you into trouble?” Another shake. “Harry, what on earth have you done?” He mumbled something, the words muffled by the wool of his mother’s sweater. “ _Harry_ ,” She warned, tone still soft but promising retribution.

Finally, Harry lifted his head to look at her. He felt like he was ten again, under his mother’s green gaze, one full of love and acceptance. He loved looking at the mirror, knowing that he was the product of his parent’s love and devotion; knowing that despite there being more of Dad, there was also bits of Mum in him too.

“I…I just felt like it,” he confessed, and stared into her eyes, pleading.

She looked into his, searching for any traces of lies. When she found none, she sighed. Again. The third time in a span of a few minutes. He wondered if it was possible to disappoint and scare his mother even more than he has now, making her fiery red hair turn prematurely white with worry. It clenched at his heart, guilt piercing him with the thought, but he couldn’t stop it. 

Her soft hair tickled when she bent down to place a kiss on his forehead. Harry’s eyes closed at the sensation, basking in the love so freely given to him because he was a son.

“I just want you to be safe, Harry. Is that too much to ask?” 

He hesitated, opened his mouth and closed it, the word caught in his throat. Such a simple yet loaded question. It wasn’t up to him whether or not he was safe, and he didn’t want to tell his mother why, so he replied with a dry mouth, “No.” He hoped that she would believe him, it’d break him if she dug deeper.

Mum gave him a blinding smile, and Harry relaxed, comforted that she trusted him. But his conscience grew heavier with each uncertainty he told her.

“Come, sit, Harry. Let’s have breakfast.”

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾

The two of them sat at the table, quietly chatting while portioning out food. Harry got two of each, making sure to grab the fluffiest of the pancake stack and the greasiest of meats. 

“Where’s Dad, Mum?” Harry asked, a slice of bacon stuffed into his mouth.

“Manners, Harry!” Mum chided, her knife pointed at him, and he quickly blurted out an apology. _It’s not nice manners to use a knife to point at people either, Mum_ –-not that he’ll tell her, of course, he still had the desire to live after all. “Dad’s sleeping at the moment. Remember how late he came back home last night? A case ran late, and you know how hard he’s working to get that Head Auror position. Let him sleep, okay?”

He nodded. Dad worked long hours, catching petty crooks and high profile criminals left and right, Harry knew. But sometimes he wished he didn’t have to work as hard. He wished they could spend their free time like they did when he was younger. Having an actual family time.

But he also knew that if Dad didn’t work overtime and spend more hours at work than home, then he wouldn’t have the newest and top-of-the-line quidditch equipment or the most golden and expensive cauldrons and potion ingredients there were. So it was a trade-off–-less Dad, more stuff.

It’s a sad, repetitive thing, really. Dad feels guilty that he had to miss out on so much of his son’s life so he decides to fill the gaps with gifts in hopes of mending their bond. Not that it ever broke, it was just pulled really thin and long. That’s why Dad bought him so much new stuff–-it was more than he would ever need and there were sometimes duplicates when Dad forgot that he had bought them before, once or thrice–-and Harry would have no choice but to accept the gifts with a smile because he didn’t want to hurt the feelings of a man who tried. 

Suddenly, an unfamiliar pressure wrapped around his neck, pressing onto his trachea and choking him. He set down his fork with a clatter, his hands going up to claw at the obstruction. His breath came out in desperate gasps.

Then, the pain stopped.

He bowed over his plate, heaving and sweating, and he looked up at Mum. She stared at him, her brows slightly frowned, and silverware held tight and paused over a fruit. But her eyes held no pity. Good. He gave her a shaky smile, and she gave a slight one in return. A few seconds later, Harry sat back, his back to the warm, flat chair, and they resumed eating as if nothing happened. 

“Is that a new necklace?” Mum asked.

Harry brought a hand to his neck, and the motion disturbed a small bell, giving off a slight tinkle. “Yeah, it’s new,” he said, fingers rubbing at the silky material uncomfortably.

“It’s very pretty, Harry, very Gryffindor, and _much_ more tasteful than the thick black one you insisted on.”

At her comment, Harry was very aware of the leather beneath the silk, confining his neck, the edge cutting into his skin. He swallowed food in hopes of relieving the tension, but it only made it worse. Ah, he needed milk. Milk is the solution to everything.

“I’m going to grab some milk, Mum. Do you want coffee while I’m at it?” 

Without waiting for a reply, Harry made a beeline to the pantry. She’d like some anyway, as would Dad after such a long day at work. 

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾

He grabbed the counter edge to steady himself. A sudden dizzy spell had hit him, and he almost dropped a plate because of it. His ear twitched, and Harry thought he heard faint laughter that was neither his or Mum’s. Shaking his head, he picked up the plate again and began to dry it off.

“Is everything alright?”

Harry raised his head from his task. No, he wasn’t alright. “Yeah. I am, Mum. Don’t worry about me.” He said instead.

Mum gave him a look and Harry almost cowed beneath it. “You’re the son of the Marauder Prongs and a descendant of the Potter genes. Of _course_ I worry, Harry,” She rolled her eyes and flicked some soap bubbles at him, and Harry grinned. “But it’s also because you’re my baby boy.”

His eyes drifted down to the plate in his still hands at his mother’s soft tone. A wry smile crept up onto his lips. He hated lying to her, hated how she always looked at him without a change in judgment despite the way his life had turned. But he was also glad for it too. Because he wouldn’t know what to do if she suddenly pushed him away from disgust, contempt in her eyes.

When he raised his eyes back to her, his heart nearly stopped, the sound of shattering prevalent to his ears. 

“Mum?!” He cried out in shock. “Mum, Mum!” 

His mother’s face was warped, her features twisting and making a mosaic out of her. Like that one muggle artist Mum so loved. Picasso or something. He saw how her ‘mouth’ opened and closed, forming around one word. “Harry,” but nothing came from it. 

“Mum!” He reached out his hand to her, desperate to grasp her. She was only a few feet away, but it felt as if they were miles away, his hand grabbing at empty air. The space around him began to feel heavy, and Mum’s body began to twist and turn as she stretched out her hand to meet his. And dammit! His nose tickled right then, so itchy, painfully itchy, but he had to _save_ his Mu––

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾

Harry woke up to his sneeze, the force powerful enough to shake him from sleep. He shook his head to clear his mind from foggy sleep. When he blinked, he noticed his hands were paws.

He looked around, noticing the rows and rows of desks in front of him, and the anatomical skeletons of creatures of all kinds decorating the room. He sat atop a stack of tomes–-Merlin have mercy! The vantage point he had from this spot made him queasy, the books atop a tall desk, the height making his vision swim. Harry jumped off of the book to the desktop, just so he could be _that much closer to the ground._

There were some trinkets on the desk that he’d never seen before, so he hopped towards them, inspecting it. He thrust his face into the object, his nose curiously sniffing about it. What’s this? _Maybe it’s a toy! Oh it’s been so long since we’ve had a toy!_ Not everything is for playing. Besides a toy would be impractical in a setting like this. 

It took him a while, but Harry noticed how quiet his surroundings were. He blamed the new collar, its bell tinkling with his every move. Slowly, he turned around and was met the gazes of cooing students. His only response was to blink stupidly at them, like a deer in those muggle-car lights. All of a sudden, his nose itched again, and he couldn’t stop it. He sneezed. Again. Why are sneezes so hard to prevent? 

The class just stopped their progress, dropping quills and notes, and made a louder chorus of ‘coos’ and ‘awws’. Even the _boys_ were affected, Merlin. Who knew the charm of a bunny could be this powerful? 

“Now, now class,” A familiar voice said, grabbing the attention of his students with a mere clap. “You all are in your third year now, yet you still are easily this distracted? Should I stop bringing him if he’s only going to disrupt you all from your schoolwork?” 

Aghast cries resounded from the students. “Professor Riddle, _please_ don’t!” was the most common cry. There was even one that said, “I’ll _fail_ if he’s gone.” 

“No need to be dramatic,” Professor Riddle said, walking back to the chalkboard. “As long as my class pays attention, he will stay here.” And when he passed the teacher desk, Professor Riddle casually rubbed the top of Harry’s head, causing him to squint. “Good morning, Harry.” 

Harry’s gaze followed Professor Riddle’s gait until he could no more, and dropped his head to his paws. 

So it was just a dream then. 

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾ 

A plate of carrots popped into existence in front of him. Harry just stared at it, making no move to eat one. 

Carrots. For Merlin’s sake, couldn’t there be anything else? He was beginning to dread this new school year. 

His stomach rumbled, and Harry sighed. He’d have to eat it anyway because he hadn’t had breakfast this morning. Despondently, he grabbed a carrot stick between his paws and gnawed at it. Ugh, how he wished he was a boy, or that Professor Riddle was here. Then he’d be able to eat _real_ food. 

It still annoyed him to no end that the only time Master would call him by his name was when he was a bunny and when it was school hours. He also didn’t like the fact that Master became an entirely different person during school. As if he was never the one who had full control of Harry’s life, guiding and molding him completely with whips and treats. 

That’s why Harry called the man at school, the one who cherished and loved him, Professor Riddle, and the monster at home Master. 

He really hoped that Professor Riddle would bring him some treats from the Great Hall, like a treacle tart or something. _Treacle tart!_

... 

Yeah, a treacle tart sounds amazing right now. 

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾ 

After lunch, Harry dozed on and off. An animal response to pain, in order to conserve energy and heal. 

Sometimes he’d wake to the sounds of Professor Riddle’s lecture or of curious students. Or better yet, the hush-hush gossip of the older girls that thought Professor Riddle was nice-looking. They weren’t wrong. Professor Riddle did look nice, but that’s only the top layer of the cake. 

... 

He should probably stop thinking about food since his meal was such a disappointment. Professor Riddle had brought him three strawberries—not treacle tarts but treats all the same. 

He drifted back into the folds of sleep, desperate to chase the wisp ends of a dream near forgotten. 

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾ 

He was on his knees, his body crumpled and bent beneath the desk, a heavy weight in his mouth. It wasn’t aroused, but the cock was still large enough for his mouth to strain and saliva to escape his stretched mouth. Harry wanted to stretch his legs really badly, he thought he could feel cramps forming, and ouch. His back. 

Master hadn’t really given him much of a choice in position. He had been rudely awaken from his doze by being turned and suddenly shoved underneath Professor Riddle’s desk when the last student had barely walked out of the classroom. 

Harry had opened his mouth to complain, but the next thing he knew, a too-familiar cock was shoved into the hole, silencing his indignation. Master had only looked down at him and smirked, rubbing Harry’s bleary eyes away for him. 

So there he was, neglected and kneeling between Master’s legs with his face pressed up against Master’s crotch for hours. He hated how he always had to swallow every few minutes or so but he hadn’t wanted to get punished for making a mess on the floor. Yet the thing he hated the most about being used as a cock-warmer was how _boring_ it was. 

There was absolutely nothing to do, except to sit there and suck. He couldn't go back to napping either, his whipping bruises smarting with each shift he made. It absolutely didn’t help that Master wasn’t even getting hard from his ministrations at all; it’s as if Master was being forced into this position, and not _Harry_! 

A knock on the classroom door woke him from his bored daze, his senses sharpening to an uncanny degree—who knows who’s at the door. Who-knows-who could be a fellow teacher or a student, and if they caught Master in a situation like this, then Harry would be in big trouble. 

Master could lose his job, his prestige, and technically his life. If Master loses all those then Professor Riddle would disappear forever, and in his place would be another man, so dangerous and surrounded by shadows that Harry has rarely interacted with him at all: Lord Voldemort. 

Master would have no need for his public identity as Professor Riddle then, the usefulness of it broken and worthless. Harry didn’t want that, because wherever Master went, Harry had to follow. 

“Come in,” Master said, the scratchings of his quill never stopping. Harry swallowed even harder, fear running through his veins instead of blood. Master snuck a hand on top of his hair and pulled lightly before petting it. A warning. He wasn’t to make any sounds of his presence nor can he swallow as hard as he had before. 

“Um, Professor Riddle?” It was a girl, a young student if the timid voice was anything to go by. Harry felt his shoulders relax at that, children were less suspective of their teachers, especially the charming ones. It’s the truth. Harry had had first-hand experience. 

“Yes? No need to be shy, come on in.” 

The door closed behind the girl as she walked hesitant steps toward the desk. Harry could hear her shaky breaths when she neared. Was she scared? Nervous? 

“How may I help you, Miss…?” He heard Master speak with Professor Riddle’s voice, the one with a kind smile on the face. 

“P-potter. Adeline Potter, Sir.” 

Harry startled at that. He tried to pull off from the cock, but the hand on his hair forced him down, making him gag. He thrashed around, trying to get free, yet also not making any sounds for this Potter to notice. 

“A Potter? Why it’s been nearly a decade since the last Potter graced my classrooms! I still remember James Potter, the rascal he was. And _Lily Evans_! My, was she a smart one. And I see that you’re a Ravenclaw––following Evans’ steps?” 

He struggled even harder when he heard his parents names. Horrifyingly, the cock began to thicken, filling his mouth, choking him. 

“Y-yes, Sir. They’re my parents, Sir,” The girl spoke with pride at the mention of their parents. Their parents––Merlin, he has a sister. “I’ve heard many great things about you! Mum always praises the way you taught DADA, she says that everything she’s learned in this class, whether small or large, has helped her in some way.” 

“I’m flattered. Tell me, Miss Potter, what are you here for? I don’t have first-years until tomorrow.” 

“Oh! Sorry Sir,” He heard a bag dropping to the floor, and the rustling of someone searching inside it. “I wanted to ask you about the book we had to read over the summer, _Offensive Magic of the Magicals_ by Merilda Perkins.” 

“What about it, Miss Potter?” His hair beneath the unyielding hand was being rubbed, and Harry had no choice to be complacent. He allowed his head to be pushed down in a slow rhythm, or else he would accidentally bite Master. He still had the scars from the punishment that had followed when he had done it once. 

“Why did Perkins only write about the offensive abilities of Wizarding-kind and a little bit of the Lycans? Why didn’t she write more about the magic of Cofgods and Barghests or even those of the Lamia? Why was she so fixated on wizards? It would have been more interesting and informing if the book had focused on non-humans? Also, what is the difference between the magic of our modern society compared to the magic of our last known magical cousins? The book said that wizards came from the union of beast and human, which means we’re related to nearly all magical creatures. So how has our magic evolved to what it is today, such that our wizarding magic can be used by other species but we cannot use theirs?” 

She seemed as if she didn’t need the ability to breathe with the way she fired off questions after questions. Her voice had lost its stutter, impassioned as she was by the topic at hand. She reminded him of his mother—as she should since she’s his sister. 

“Miss Potter,” Master began, his voice filled with mirth, be it because of his sister or because of him, Harry didn’t know, “You are worthy of being a Ravenclaw, let no one undermine you because of it. But I must answer your questions tomorrow––” 

“But, Sir!” 

Harry winced, his hair had been reflexively pulled when Master was interrupted. 

“Tomorrow, young Potter. It is now nearing supper time,” Master continued, his voice light and pleasant as if he hadn’t been annoyed. “However, if you are still curious, by tomorrow I can have a list of books for you to read. Would you like that?” 

“Yes! Yes, Sir! Please!” She gushed out, and Harry was so taken aback by how enthused she was, He had never been like that. 

“I expect great things from you, Miss Potter. Go on to supper, you deserve it for getting into Ravenclaw. The Great Hall during supper is a scene you should never miss.” He heard the shuffling of a bag and the scuffing of shoes as his sister walked away. 

Oh, and Miss Potter?” Master stopped her at the door, “I would recommend the steak medallions or something close to home.” 

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾ 

Once the door closed shut, Master scooted back his chair to look down at him. 

He had a demented smirk adorning his face as he grabbed Harry’s head and forced it down his cock in a fast and rough pace. Harry gagged, involuntary tears welling and rolling down his stuffed cheeks. His hands flew up to Master’s thighs, anchoring himself. 

No longer was the room quiet. The sounds of retching and sputtering filled the cavernous classroom, bouncing off the high ceilings and echoing endlessly. It sounded horrid and ugly to his ears, but it seemed to get Master off quite well if the harsh breathing was anything to go by. 

Then, Master pushed his head down to meet his bucking hips and held him there. Nothing happened for a few moments, and Harry, struggling to breathe with a clogged throat and a nose tickled with pubic hair, slapped at Master’s legs, begging for air. He swallowed even harder, his throat fluttering around the cock in attempts to stimulate it to completion so that he could _breathe_ — 

Come shot into his mouth, the heat of it burning the thin skin of his throat. Harry was unprepared and choked on it. He’s very sure that some of it went into the wrong hole. His peripherals began to darken, black beginning to consume him–-and as sudden as he was pushed onto the cock, he was shoved off of it. 

Harry kneeled there on the floor beneath Master’s feet, hand clutching at his throat as he hacked out unswallowed come. His throat must be bruised by the harsh pace and thrusts Master had set on him, maybe not externally, but definitely internally like all his other wounds were. He sucked in air, precious, sweet, life-giving air. When his coughs began to lessen, a pair of fingers gripped his chin, forcing him to look up. 

Master’s face was so close to his own, he could see the individual strands of his dark iris, make out the dark abyss amidst the bloody brown. He could feel Master’s shaky breaths fluttering across his flush skin, the skimming of wet lips on his cheeks before his own lips were savagely taken. 

He pushed weakly at the body atop of him, but with a lack of oxygen and strength, he was helpless. 

When Master finally pulled away, he grinned, child-like and gleeful. 

“Oh, Bunny, Bunny, Bunny! There’s _another_ Potter this year!” 

And Harry despaired at the look in the maniac’s eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand this is where I'm going to have to stop for now. I promise to come back soon though!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm alive. I think.  
> Thanks for reading this... _mess_.

Broken sobs tumbled from his lips as he struggled to raise himself up, muscles trembling with effort. No sooner had he lifted himself up a few inches before his thighs gave out beneath him and he plunged back down onto the cock that speared him open. He threw back his head and shrieked as stars swam through his vision, the cock hitting home at that one spot. 

He stayed like that for a while–-his body quivering, lungs heaving in air, his passage fluttering around the cock inside him with each breath he took–-before he dropped his head down, folding himself onto the pair of legs below him. Sweat hung from his matted curls, dripping onto the silk sheets below. He vaguely noticed that the drops stained the red silk a darker color. Master always insisted on the color red on nights like these.

A tsk sounded behind him, and the hand trailing up and down his side glanced over the small of his back and migrated to his tail, pulling at the fur. Ah, he had taken too long of a break. With difficulty, he managed to push himself back into a kneeling position, situating his arms directly below him to prop himself up because he barely had the strength to do so. 

Slowly, so slowly, he began to rock himself on the cock, trying to gain a momentum to please his master. It got to the point that he decided his burning muscles were capable of lifting and dropping him back down–-though with less intensity when the night had started. The hum of approval also gave him the confidence to continue, the vibrations resounding within him, making him moan. His innate need to please and be praised overrode his shame.

He opened his eyes to stare in front of him, meeting his reflection head on. Unafraid, unabashed, wanton. He began to slam himself down onto the cock, his counterpart in the mirror spurring him on.

“What an _eager_ boy.” 

His green eyes met the dark eyes of Master, and he clamped down on the cock. The hand smoothing over his thigh clenched on reflex, the too long nails piercing through thin skin. He gasped out in pain and his rhythm stuttered because of it. His body stiffened, afraid that the lapse would bring about Master’s wrath. 

But he didn’t have to worry. Master had a vice grip on his hip, harshly pulling him down and back up. Repeating the motion over and over with ragged breaths tainting the night air, setting a tempo that would be just right to get Master off.

He relaxed his body, allowing himself to go with the inevitable flow.

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾

Master carried Harry in the crook of his elbow as he walked around the chamber, his feet light and carefree as he headed towards a closed door. Harry’s heart pounded rapid fast beneath his fur, he was certain that Master would be able to hear it or even _feel_ it. He wanted to kick at Master’s arm, jump off and run to safety. 

Because Harry knew what was behind the door. And he didn’t want to go in.

He began to struggle when Master was two feet away from the door, head twisted away and wriggling. Master brought his head down to kiss the top of his head. He breathed in Harry’s scent and muttered sweet nothings into the fur.

“It’s okay, Bunny. You’re safe with me. Nothing’s going to harm you.”

Then Master twisted the knob and opened the door.

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾

Harry looked around the room with barely concealed panic. He was huddled into himself, feet thumping on the metal tabletop. The chill of the air did not help his fear, making him shudder and gnash his teeth in response.

“Bunny,” Master growled, irritated; the tone of it making Harry freeze momentarily, “Are you done disturbing me?”

Harry’s teeth ground even harder onto each other, the sound unbearably loud within the quiet room. Master put down the tongs onto the tabletop with a loud clunk and practically prowled towards Harry, the red lights making Master appear more animalistic and predatory. Harry shrank back even further.

Master picked him up by the scruff of his neck and lifted him towards eye-level. Harry dangled uselessly in the hold, his muscles stiff and teeth still grinding. He was levelled with a glare that softened to disappointment, and Harry guiltily looked away from the eyes. He can't help it, he can't stop grinding his teeth even if he wanted to.

A breeze of warm air made him flinch when Master let out a deep sigh. “I'll never understand why you're so scared here, Bunny, there's nothing in here that can hurt you. How about this, after I'm finished here, I'll ask a house elf for some ice cream, okay? Just be a good boy and let me work, alright?” Master searched for his eyes, and when he was satisfied with what he saw, he brought Harry forward to kiss the soft fur on Harry's belly before placing him back down onto the counter. Harry seized at the contact; it may have seemed heartwarming, yet it was anything but. A predator's teeth to his vulnerable, soft belly.

The room was dim, tinted light bulbs painting everything with a red glow, making innocent things seem ominous. Machinery hummed throughout the room, a constant buzzing in his ears. Lines of strings hung from the walls, hanging low enough by the burdens they carried that Master had to duck as he worked. Harry didn't like this room which he had dubbed the Red Room. It wasn't because of the chant-like humming of the equipment or the rather evil lair theme the whole room had, but the products that were created from this room.

Hanging off the strings, clipped by clothespins, were photographs. Of him. As a human boy. In lewd and compromising positions. There were close-ups of his face, red with blush, sweaty, and eyes dazed, come drenching him; some had him on his back, Master's cock up his ass, his hands bound with ropes behind his back: or he was trussed like his family's Christmas turkey, stuffed full with toys and reddening bruises from the whips and canes and paddles Master used on him. Sometimes there would be pictures of him with Master's cock stretching his mouth, Master's hand in his hair pushing him down with his green eyes looking up at the camera, filled with tears because he couldn't breathe.

Master hummed a jaunty tune as he walked towards an empty section on the string, a batch of newly-developed photos in his hands. He clipped them onto the string, multiple copies set out to dry.

The batch told a story about last night, when Harry had ridden Master's cock while facing a mirror. The pictures showed the expanse of Harry's back, his tail fluffed and grabbed, pulled away by Master's grip to reveal the juncture where Master's cock stretched him open.

Another picture captured Harry's thrown-back head, mouth wide with a moan as he rocked backwards, through the mirror. It revealed the most about Master–-showing his relaxed body laid back as he was pleasured by the boy straddled across his thighs, a hand to Harry's waist as he controlled the rhythm–-but his identity was hidden by the camera in his raised hand.

Harry counted the number of copies of each scene, there was one more than the normal number Master would make. It seemed that this batch would be pinned to the Collection, and Harry squirmed at the thought. The Collection was where Master kept his favorite shots: some he pinned to a board, others he stowed away to be admired at a later time. 

The other copies would be sold. Somewhere, anywhere, Harry didn't know. He didn't know who bought them or why they would buy them, but every time Master came home from selling them, he'd have a heavy bag of gold in his hands. 

But that wasn't what disturbed Harry the most, the thought that random strangers had access to his private photos--he couldn't object to it anyways. Rather it was how young he looked.

Through the haze of sex, Harry could ignore the fact his looks didn't match his age, but when in the Red Room, he was forced with the reality. He looked the same as he did when he was fifteen, in body and face, only his eyes were older, filled with pain and maturity that he was forced into. 

Harry doesn't know what exactly Master did to him, but he remembered how it was done. The feeling of being dragged out of the cage, tied down spread-eagle to a floor painted with sigils, the cuffs digging into his limbs as he struggled. The sound of Master chanting in a silvery, slithery tongue, the words caressing his naked skin like Master's wandering touches. 

He could remember the putrid smell of a concoction brewing nearby, and if he strained his memory hard enough, Harry thought he could see the purple smoke weaving lazily throughout the air. The horrid taste of the potion was unforgettable, staining his pallet till this day. Master had poured it down his throat, his hand covering Harry's mouth and nose when he sputtered and choked in reflex, forcing him to swallow or else he'd drown. Then the metallic and pasty taste of raw flesh and sinews that followed the potion just as quick, and the tangy sweetness of crushed berries. 

Distractedly, Harry had noticed between his swallows that Master's hands were dyed blood-red when they left his mouth, the juice staining his hands like sin. As if Master was doing a forbidden ritual. The moment he swallowed the last of the pulps, unimaginable pain coursed throughout his body, much worse than anything he had ever suffered before.

The next time he woke, his ears were ringing, leaving him near deaf, and he noticed that he laid atop a soft mattress, something that he hadn't experienced ever since he was put in the cage. His sight was blurry as well and his body unbearably hot, but he could make out Master hovering above him and feel his hands running over him. Vaguely, he noted that Master was running diagnostic charms over him. Harry wanted to speak, to ask what's wrong with him, but his mouth clamped shut, sealing his worried thoughts within him.

When Master noticed him staring, he gave him a warm smile and his lips moved, but no words came out. Then he pressed a cool hand to Harry's burning forehead, who whined and pressed into the soothing touch before sleep overtook him once more.

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾

“Bunny, are you feeling better now?”

Harry pretended not to hear the question, focusing instead on the rich taste of vanilla, the chilled ice that made tingles go down his spine all the way to his tail, the smoothness of the cream as it melted on his tongue and went down his throat. He ears were folded back and his eyes closed in pure bliss, and opened his mouth for more. He heard Master dip the spoon into the bowl and scoop out more ice cream and the shifting of Master's sleeves as he lifted the metal towards an eager Harry. 

Harry's nose twitched in confusion as the heady scent of vanilla bean drifted away, and followed the retreating trail. His head stuck out too far and unbalanced him, nearly making him fall flat if he hadn’t hastily opened his eyes and scrambled back into a safer position. 

Upon opening his eyes, Harry watched in horror as his sweet, sweet scoop of vanilla ice cream entered Master's mouth and was swallowed whole. Master had the audacity to chuckle at his betrayed expression, and said, “You didn't answer my question.” As if it explained everything and flashed him a wide smile.

That explained _nothing!_ Harry inwardly shrieked. He mourned the loss of his delicious ice cream. Harry should have expected something like this, because anything that Master offered had a catch to it, and more often than not, Harry was the one who suffered the hidden deal. One would expect that Harry would know not to blindly trust Master's words anymore, but that was how he got captured in the first place. 

“Now, I asked if you were feeling better, Bunny.” Master said, and dipped the spoon back into the bowl, Harry following the movements, hungry for the treat. “If you don't answer me, I will throw away this bowl of ice cream.”

Harry hopped closer towards Master, butting his head on his arm and giving out his most doleful he could give. Master was unimpressed but gave him another spoonful of ice cream anyways. “I'm serious, Bunny.”

He sighed before nodding his head that _yes,_ Harry was indeed feeling much better now. 

“Good!” Master patted him on his head and scooped up another bite of ice cream to feed Harry. “Honestly, Bunny, I don't understand your fear–-it's completely irrational.”

_Of course you wouldn't,_ Harry wouldn't dare say aloud, _you don't understand._ He so badly wanted to tell Master why he hated the Red Room, that he hated seeing his unaging body, but he wouldn't and dutifully accepted each spoonful of ice cream instead. Because Harry knew that Master would somehow, some way, make his fear even worse than it was now.

And if not that, Harry would be punished severely. 

He remembered the time when he had first entered the Red Room and, upon seeing the photographs, tore and mangled the films and negatives, rendering them useless. Master had been furious when he couldn't stop Harry in time. For months, he had withdrawn all comforts that Harry had had, feeding him the bare minimum so that he wouldn't die, and fucking Harry so brutally with his cock and random objects that Harry gained scars within and bled for days on end. 

Even to this day, whenever Master fucked him, his insides would twinge in phantom pain.

⁽⁽˙˟˙⁾⁾

_Tick-tock, tick-tock_ went the grandfather clock. 

Harry watched the pendulum inside the wooden body swing left to right and back again. It was hypnotizing, he had to admit, watching something go about its routine with perfect precision, never once faltering or straying from its path.

_Tick-tock, tick-tock._

The classroom was empty except for him, everyone having gone down to the Great Hall for lunch. His plate of assorted fruits had long been consumed and set aside for the house elves to clean up. 

_Tick-tock, tick-tock._

He hopped from Professor Riddle's desk and onto a crowded adjacent shelf. He sniffed at the items placed there, his nose wrinkling at the musty smell of age and dust, and immediately wrenched his head away.

It wouldn't do to sneeze and disturb the precariously stacked glass jars filled with tiny magical specimens. Harry crossed over to another shelf before he accidentally broke anything. 

He came face to face with a certain petrified cornish pixie embalmed inside a glass jar. Harry puffed his chest in vindictive glee at the sight, and if rabbits could smirk, he would have. Ha, look who survived and who didn't.

Once, during a prior school year, Professor Riddle had a student enter the Forbidden Forest and catch some pixies for detention. The student, seeking revenge, had let loose a cornish pixie or two inside the locked Defense classroom.

As according to the student's vengeance, the pixies wreaked havoc in the room. Everything--furnitures, books, stationary--had been flying in the air, crashing into one another. The pixies destroyed everything in sight, and when one of them noticed Harry huddling beneath a cubby, it went after him.

Harry was relentlessly chased around the classroom by the pixies, dodging left and right when they threw objects at him. Whenever he found a momentary hiding spot, they would use their pixie-magic to blast it away. Harry swore that he had never run so fast in his life. Thank Merlin that he was a fast bunny.

When Professor Riddle finally broke down the classroom door, Harry practically ran up his legs. Professor Riddle immediately scooped him up into his arms and Harry was glad that he was so tall.

Professor Riddle shot down the pixies in less than a second, and Harry peered over the barrier of Professor Riddle's arms at the falling menaces. Serves them right, Harry had thought viciously. Professor Riddle made sure that Harry, except for his frazzled heart and rapid breaths, was unharmed, before surveying the damage done. 

Harry hadn't dared to look back at Professor Riddle's expression–-he didn't need to because the oppressive magic came off of him in angry waves. Harry was almost sure that Master was about to appear if it hadn't been for concerned professors running over.

Least to say, the student responsible had been punished by the headmaster, a suspension for two months. Master must had thought that it was too light, because the very next day, the student had seemed to age by half a decade, with violet bags beneath their bloodshot eyes and jumped at every little sound. The troublesome pixie that had been chasing Harry was petrified and stuffed into a jar for people to goggle at.

_Tick-tock, tick-tock._

Harry looked back at the grandfather clock, the hands on the intricately carved face slowly inching towards one.

He hopped onto a bookshelf and waited. Any minute now….

The classroom door opened a crack and a head peeked around before entering and silently closing it. 

The girl looked upwards towards the room's high ceiling and gasped. She spun around, eyes still locked onto the walls, and admired the detailed designs of animate magical creatures. She breathed out a laugh like spring breeze when she saw a kelpie rear up on its hind legs before taking off towards an abraxan. A great-headed hydra roared fire at the stone sky, a large grim bounded around a cerberus like puppies at play, and an occamy flitted about, chasing after an elusive snidget.

It was beautiful, Harry knew, because he too had been captivated the first time he saw it.

_Tick-tock, tick-tock._

She spun and spun, trying to see each and every creature as they moved, and Harry wanted to warn her that she was going to fall––

But he couldn't, because he wasn't a boy. He had no voice to speak with.

He nearly panicked when she tripped on her own two feet, but she caught herself on a desk. And when she raised her head and spotted him between the books, Harry sucked in a sharp breath.

Because she was everything like Mum and Dad, yet also not. Her hair was pale brown mixed with fiery red to make a dashing copper, her eyes a dark green-hazel, her buttoned nose resting upon a soft aristocratic face.

She bounded towards him with eagerness, and up this close, Harry could see a healthy dash of pale freckles dotting her face. 

“Hi,” she breathed out, breathless from joy, “I've heard so much about you from the upperclassmen. They say that you're the absolute cutest creature in the world--and I have to agree.” Slowly she reached her hand across the space and grasped one of his paws. A bright smile bloomed on her face, and oh Merlin, can his heart take anymore?

“Hello, Mr. Rabbit. My name is Adeline. Adeline Potter. Let's be friends, okay?”

_Tick._

_Tock._


End file.
